They sit in the very back row, mainly so nobody can throw popcorn at them or complain about their large heads blocking the way. Of course, Korvo doesn't see why they can't just cuddle up on their own couch with their own screen. In their home, they can have whatever snacks they want, watch whatever they want, cuddle up to each other without a pesky armrest in the way, point out plot holes and inaccuracies as loudly as they want. But it's Terry's turn to pick the venue for their date night, and he's promised a special favor. He hadn't needed to – Korvo always ends up, in one way or another, indulging his life mate, the green man who has him wrapped around his green finger.
Terry yawns in an exaggerated manner, raising his arms up and languidly draping one over Korvo's shoulders, a move he's seen in many romantic comedies he's dragged his husband into watching. The more sensible of the pair rolls his eyes at the corniness, much like the way he does at said movies, though he's unable to suppress a grin. "What are we, in high school? You know you can just put your arm around me like a normal adult," he scoffs, leaning into his partner's side. Stupid armrest. Why do humans even have these things?
"Shush," Terry whispers, pressing a kiss to Korvo's temple. "I'm trying to romance you."
"We're married," Korvo hisses. "Have you not already romanced me?"
"Well pardon me for wanting to keep the spark alive," Terry groans, idly gliding his thumb over his partner's shoulder. "We're married, Korvotron," he says smugly, pinning his partner's own words against him. "You can admit you love me and my cheesiness."
"Sure, Terry. Whatever helps you sleep at night." Terry sports a smirk, knowing his partner has conceded. His suspicions are further confirmed as Korvo laces their fingers together and squeezes his hand affectionately.
Throughout the movie and much to Terry's chagrin, Korvo scoffs at the awful special effects and humanity's rudimentary understanding of space travel. To be fair, Terry probably should know better than to take a ship expert to a sci-fi movie about spaceships – it's inevitable for him to be annoyed by artistic license.
Eventually, something makes Korvo hold his snark and bite his tongue. The science may not be accurate, but the plot is familiar – too familiar. The protagonists narrowly escape a doomed planet, which then explodes behind them, the boom echoing through the theater's speakers and vibrating the floor.
His chest tightens as if someone were squeezing his heart and pulling it down into his stomach and into his shoes.
He can't move.
He can't speak.
He's not in his own body.
He's back on the ship he now spends much of his waking hours trying to repair, staring blankly at the vast expanse of space through the lens of his old self five years ago. Nobody on the ship looks back to watch their home world's destruction. They're in survival mode, laser focused on finding a planet, and can't afford to think about anything else. Bits of what used to be Shlorp, what used to carry many snuffed lives, shoot out into the abyss behind them and a flash of light from the asteroid glares off the rear-view mirror.
He'd dutifully prepared for his mission, honored to carry the Shlorpian legacy. He'd known that in a short time, his home would be gone and his loved ones with it, that he'd never see any of his friends or colleagues again - even the ones who survived would be sent to various corners of the cosmos. Any show of anxiety or twinge of emotion would mean shunning by his peers, being thrown in a prison, and left to die on Shlorp. Any feelings of anticipatory grief had been pushed far down into the deepest parts of his subconscious to lurk and pop up at inconvenient times like this.
In the days leading up to doomsday, he'd quietly tried to accept the unacceptable, fathom the unfathomable and not think about the impending doom of his home and what that meant. He threw himself further into his studies of ship repair and engineering. He's never exactly been a process-your-emotions guy like Terry. His solution was and still is to work until he passed out and pretend it didn't exist. The pit of existential dread in his stomach was merely excitement to carry out the mission and explore space….right?
Terry's attention breaks from the screen as he feels his partner bristle next to him and tighten his grip on his hand. The grip has turned from an affectionate hold to a desperate cling to reality, shaky yet stiff enough to make rigor mortis blush. It's almost bone-crushing. He hisses in a bit of pain.
"Hey, babe?" he whispers. "You're kinda cutting off my circulation, do ya think you could-"
Something pops onto his shoulder and travels down his arm, making him shudder. He whips his head around to the source of the goobler and notices the look on Korvo's face – a blank, unfocused gaze that looks not at the screen, but through it. His body is stiff, knees pulled into his chest, and his breath is shaky, erratic. "Korvo?" Terry's expression falters, a pang of worry striking him as he shakes Korvo's shoulder gently.
"Are you… Hey, Korvy, look at me," he pleads, removing his arm from Korvo's shoulder and snapping a finger in front of the scientist's face to no avail. More worry bubbles up from his chest into his throat as a tear rolls down Korvo's cheek. Sure, Korvo is more fragile and insecure than he lets on, and this is far from the first time Terry has seen him cry, but this feels different. These aren't angry, bruised ego tears; there's no loud sobs or yelling. He looks terrified and helpless.
Some of the patrons glare as gooblers land in their popcorn, reactions of disgust quickly shut down. The look on Terry's face is enough to make them gulp and turn away apologetically. They're lucky ray guns aren't allowed in the theater and that Yumyulack isn't here to shrink them down. His throat feels dry, and every word feels unsure, but he follows the procedure he usually does when Yumyulack wakes him from his night terrors or Korvo wakes up in a cold sweat. "I'm right here," he assures, placing his free hand on top of their clasped hands. "Terry's here. You're safe. You're on Earth. Nothing's going to hurt you."
Korvo blinks, a small whimper escaping through his lips. His brain screams, commanding his body to move, run, but he's stuck in place, trapped in an uncooperative vessel.
"Can you hear me?" Korvo doesn't respond. It's not the first time he's gone nonverbal – sometimes he's done this when overstimulated. Okay, don't panic. He can respond without words. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
Trembling, Korvo manages to squeeze Terry's hand, and Terry exhales, releasing the breath he didn't even know he was holding. "I've got you. It's okay," he affirms, gliding his thumb over blue knuckles. "Do you wanna get out of here?"
Slowly, Korvo at least gets his neck to cooperate with him, and manages a tight-lipped nod. His voice remains stuck in his throat.
Terry squeezes his hand reassuringly. "You got it, man. Do you think you can move?"
His movements remain stiff, as if he were a tin man someone forgot to oil. He unfurls his legs, holding to Terry to steady himself because his limbs feel like someone built them of Jell-O.
"Keep breathing for me, Korvo. In and out," Terry commands, noting that his partner is still hyperventilating. "Stay with me."
Korvo manages to stand, finally, and Terry uses his arm to support him, gently guiding Korvo out of the room. That's one of the things Korvo loves about Terry - his gentleness. Sure, he's lazy and rarely ever helps with the ship and does stupid things like put his fucking jeans in the freezer - but he has a gentle tenderness to him. It's apparent in the way he comforts the replicants after a hard day at school, the way he dotes on the Pupa (even if he barely paid attention in training), and now, the way he knows Korvo like the back of his hand and knows how to help him. Korvo is book-smart and sensible, able to create schemes and solve problems in minutes. He can decipher in five minutes what would take anyone else fifty when it comes to the ship or other technology. But Terry is the heart, the one the family can go to for emotional stuff, the one humans tend to take an instant liking to. It's a skill that Korvo had once taken for granted and wishes he hadn't.
Guiding them to a bench outside of the building, away from the prying eyes and murmurs of other humans, Terry gently sits Korvo down, taking a seat beside him. Gooblers aren't popping out of his head as rapidly as they were, and he takes this as a good sign. Not wanting to aggravate or startle him, the pupa specialist opens his arms. Korvo accepts the offer, scooting towards his partner and burying his face in his chest, gripping his shirt behind him. Sobs and gasps wrack his body and he shakes like a leaf as Terry envelops him in his arms, wordlessly giving him permission to let go of everything. A pit forms in Terry's stomach, and tears prick the corners of his own eyes. Seeing the man he loves sobbing like this kills him. He pulls his partner closer, ensuring the hug is tight enough for Korvo to feel secure yet loose enough that he can slip out whenever he wants. A wet spot forms on his graphic tee, but he pays no mind, resting his head on top of Korvo's and rubbing his back. He shushes him and murmurs reassurances, telling him he's safe, he's got him, everyone is safe.
The sobbing slows and reduces to quiet tears the longer Terry holds him. Korvo focuses on the rise and fall of Terry's chest and is grateful that unlike most times when he never shuts up, he doesn't force a conversation.
"I-I'm sorry, Terry." He takes the opportunity to break the silence, mumbling into his chest. "I just didn't expect that to be so…w-what is it that humans say? Triggering?"
Terry thinks for a moment, trying to jog his memory. "Yeah, that sounds right."
"I'm sorry. I-I-I don't know what came over, me, I-"
Terry widens his eyes, stroking Korvo's head. "What- honey, why are you apologizing?"
"Because I ruined our date night!" he blurts, pulling back. "A-and I embarrassed you and myself in the theater. I'm the mission leader, I should be able to hold it together. W-w-we've been off Shlorp for years. I don't understand why…" His voice breaks, more tears rolling down his cheeks as his breath hitches.
"Korvo," Terry frowns. "We're not on Shlorp anymore. You don't need permission from anyone to feel how you do. Hell, I didn't even like it there, and I get nightmares. Watching your home and loved ones get blown up by an asteroid is a traumatic fucking experience."
"It's been years, Terry. I should be over it by now, should I not?" The knife of guilt twists in Korvo's stomach. He's a failure to everyone around him, isn't he? Everything on Shlorp has a manual, a rigid guide to follow, rules and procedurals. But on Earth, nothing comes with instructions - all that's left are the ship manuals. There's no guide to parenting, none for coping with the loss of a home planet and culture, none for being a stuck fish out of proverbial water. Emotions like this would be punished back on his home planet, and harshly. Eyes dart around, as if to look for another spaceship, one that would take him and punish him the way he deserves. "I-I-I've failed the mission; I'm failing everyone around me, and I can't even fix the stupid fucking ship, and I- "
"Breathe," Terry interrupts, taking deep breaths so that Korvo can sync with him and calm down. The blue alien obliges, counting as he breathes. "Slow down. You're getting worked up again." He squeezes his hand, trying to ground Korvo in the present.
The blue man's eyes stop darting, and the ship expert stares at the ground, watching as his gooblers scatter throughout the moonlit parking lot. "I don't even deserve my position as mission leader," he confesses, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Korvy-"
"I-I should have perished on Shlorp with everyone else. You should've had a better mission leader. I'm a failure."
"Don't say that. Don't even think like that. You know we need you." His voice breaks ever so slightly. The mere idea of losing Korvo in the same way he'd lost his previous life mate makes Terry want to cry, but he holds back. Worse, Terry exactly what he's talking about. The pupa specialist had passed the exam to make it off planet with flying colors. The Shlorpian dictators had deemed his temperament perfect to nurture a Pupa, but he hadn't even paid much attention at the academy. He'd always been told that he could do so well if he just applied himself. It was always a cycle of bullshitting his way through classes, almost failing because success scared him, and hoping nobody could see through him. He doesn't even know how he made it off planet most of the time. Sometimes, he wonders if someone smarter should have gone in this place, if he'd been selfish by going and taking that opportunity away from someone smarter.
"You'd be fine without me," Korvo replies, breaking Terry's train of thought.
"We signed up for Boost fucking Mobile while you were in London. We were a mess when we thought you died," the green Shlorpian reminds him. "You've gotta give yourself more credit, man. We actually survived." He places a hand on Korvo's cheek, gently wiping away his tears with his thumb. "If it weren't for you, we'd have been long dead. Probably eaten by a T-rex or starved to death in space or on some barren planet like those other ships."
Korvo sighs, leaning his head into Terry's hand and placing a hand on top of the one cupping his cheek. "What would my colleagues say if they could see me now? My professors? The Shlorpian leaders? They'd all see me for the complete fraud I am."
"Fuck them," Terry shrugs flatly, surprising Korvo with his nonchalance. "None of that matters anymore."
"Who I am I supposed to be without a mission, then? What purpose do I serve if not to carry on the Shlorpian legacy?"
"Your family is your mission now, and you're succeeding the fuck out of it," Terry reassures, wiping more of his tears away. "Korvy, you aren't defined by any sort of purpose or what you can do for other people. You're worth so much more than that. You're just too stubborn to realize that."
Another beat of silence passes between them, cicadas humming in the background as he holds him. Tenderly, Terry presses his lips to Korvo's cheeks where his tears were and then his lips, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him in closer. The blue Shlorpian melts into the embrace, sighing against Terry's lips in approval.
Pulling back, they rest their foreheads together. Korvo closes his lids, sighing with exhaustion. The panic attack has absolutely wiped him out. "Thank you, Terry," he murmurs. "I need you too, you know."
"I know," Terry breathes, pressing a kiss to where Korvo's nose would be if he were human and pulling back to look at his partner. "Whaddaya say we go to 7-11, grab some diet Doctor Pepper and vodka, maybe some Takis, and put on one of those karate movies you like?"
Korvo manages a smile, and for once, it reaches his eyes. "Yes, Terry. That sounds wonderful." God, Terry loves him. He'd move mountains, pull islands from the sea, just to see that smile.
"'Course! I love you, man. I don't like seeing you sad."
He pulls Terry into another soft, chaste kiss. "That's gay. And I love you, too."
"You're gay," Terry retorts, playfully shoving his partner's shoulder.
"Takes one to know one," Korvo hums, smugly raising an eyebrow as they stand to walk to the car, hands clasped.
Terry feigns a haughtiness, placing his free hand on his chest. "I'll have you know I'm pansexual, Buzzfeed says so."
"God, were you this insufferable when you sprouted or did it take years of practice?"
"Oh, fuck you."
"Maybe later."
And just like that, the Solar Opposites are back to their normal bickering.